


Original Sin

by Pigeon



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: M/M, Priest!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2005-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of sex, and priests (or dressing as them at least), and fathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Original Sin

**  
_The History of Sex part one_   
**

1.

It takes time for Jack to learn what makes Will cry out.

Makes him yell and thrash.

Makes him give up the last vestiges of his control and decorum and forget about who might overhear, and comment, and judge.

It isn't that the boy's a prude, but there's something inside of him that makes his eyes shut tight and his throat swallow all those little noises Jack longs to hear.

  
2.

Sometimes, Will thinks, its like he's never been touched before.

This isn't something he can confide in Jack, this feeling that his skin is quickening for the first time whenever Jack slides a hand across his shoulders or lays a gentle finger against his neck.

And it's not a sensation he can quite explain to himself. He remembers his mum's hand resting against the crown of his head. Remembers Mister Brown slapping him hard around the face when he wasn't quick or bright enough.

Remembers the few quick couplings he's had in alleyways or the back of a stable.

And he isn't sure he likes it.

Isn't sure there isn't some dark magic in it that he should run from, if only his body didn't thrum and burn and sway closer/nearer/tighter at every single touch gifted him.

  
3.

"Alright there, luv?" Jack rocks again, harder.

Will nods, eyes shut, lips pursed tight. His skin is flushed, spots of bright colour standing out on his cheeks.

"Sure?" Jack rubs a thumb slow and certain over the hot, smooth flesh of the boy's hip and feels a dancing tremor answer him. He gives another solid, determined thrust. "Let me see your eyes, William. Want to see you look at me while I do this, darlin'"

Will arches his back, grinds down, pulls a growl from Jack, and flexes his long legs.

Jack speeds up, stutters, slams in hard enough to bruise, damage, wound.

Will waits until Jack has fallen limp and warm and sated onto his chest, then lets his eyes open.

  
4.

Jack has history, has geography.

He's fucked and been fucked for nigh on as many years as he can remember, across as many lands and seas as he's ever had occasion to visit.

He could name whores in three dozen port towns.

He could correlate the different techniques used by men and women on their knees as to what island/county/continent they were from.

He's tried almost every debauchery he's ever come across.

And he's discovered the difference between bought sex, sex had by chance when drunk or needy with whatever passing stranger was agreeable, and what happens when two people are caught up with emotions and it is no longer _just_ sex.

  
5.

Will has a few scattered memories.

Being thirteen and wresting with a boy, older, heavier, who was a bully and a brat and had thrown out crass insults.

He remembers punching and kicking, and being pinned down on scratching, itchy straw.

Remembers the boy's lips suddenly finding his, and a hand plunging down his breeches.

He remembers being older, and finding the occasional look thrown his way as he walked through filthy alleyways.

Remembers a few odd calls directed at him; comments on his legs, or face, or arse.

Remembers the few, so very few, times, when fuelled by loneliness and the raw pain residing in his chest, he let their smiles sway him and their hands touch him and broke apart at their breath on his neck and their ferocity.

  
6.

Skin. Jack can see nothing but endless pale skin. Feel nothing but soft, firm, young skin.

His lips find the boy's throat, find the quick-beat staccato pulse.

And his hands move and touch and tease and ghost over tender parts.

"Lovely like this, Will." Jack's fingers trail back, find the delicate, aching opening to the boy's body, begin light skimming strokes. "Lovely an' good an' true. Can feel all the lovely shivers goin' through you."

And it's true, it takes so little to fire up the boy, so little to build him to that point and then just watch him fly. The slightest sustained touch at near enough any point on his body. Hands gliding over skin and he is lost.

"Could watch you like this for hours."

And it must make quite the tableau- Will pale and naked crouched awkward and inelegantly astride a fully dressed Jack who sits in a high-backed chair.

"Could just watch you, William."

And Will shakes his head, and there's the suggestion of a sound, a whispered denial, and then he bucks and trembles and begins to fall.

"Lovely," Jack murmurs.

  
7.

Jack has many weaknesses. He enjoys a bottle of rum enough to miss it something terrible when it is denied him. He feels off kilter and lost when away from the sea and his _Pearl_ for too long.

And he just can't be doing without a body, warm and smelling of sweat and breathing slow and deep, in his bed.

  
8.

It's the _befores_ and _afters_ that confuse Will.

He feels no shame or embarrassment in the _during_ , when Jack slides within him, or when he has Jack pinned beneath him, hands holding his hips steady and there is that slow breach.

Likewise when he cracks his jaw wide and tastes Jack on his tongue, or he looks down to see Jack on his knees.

But…

But there's the before, when Jack is in no hurry and likes to look and joke and build up so slowly, Will doesn't know when things have truly begun.

And there's the afters, when by rights Will feels he should be leaving, or at the very least going to sleep, but Jack is still all eyes and roaming hands and holds him so close.

Will doesn't understand these slow languid moments.

He's never experienced anything like them before.

  
9.

Will watches where Jack's hand lays splayed across his stomach.

"And what would be going on in your head, luv?"

"Nothing of importance, Jack."

"No?"

Will watches Jack's hand twitch a little, feels the warm gold of his rings against his skin. He takes a breath, "No, nothing much at all."

  
 _  
**Of Piratical Plans that go Awry; or How Will Goes Undercover, Takes Confession, and Battles Against, Rather than For, Pirates**   
_

"There, perfect," Jack steps back, head cocked to the side. "You look the very image of piety and bless'd respectability, luv."

Will raises his eyebrow and gifts Jack with a somewhat exasperated look. "And you'd be a good judge of piety and respectability, Jack?" He turns to face the mirror, "I look like I'm playing dress-up."

"I've told you, Will, luv…"

"No, this is never going to work, Jack. They are going to see straight through me."

"Nonsense." Jack straightens the lad's collar a tad. "You make me want to say my confessions and promise to repent jus' looking at you, mate."

Will darts a look back at the mirror, sees himself in stark black vestments and shocking white collar, brushes a hand against the long skirts that reach down to his ankles, and sighs, "Nothing is going to convince you this is a very bad idea, is it?"

"William, darling, having you dressed up in priest's robes is positively, absolutely, and unequivocally the best idea I might ever have 'ad."

"I thought your best idea was to stock up on those kegs of rum from Port Noir."

"Second best then."

"Jack…"

"Will, try an' relax a little. Your captain has never yet let you down, has he?" Jack ignores the boy as he opens his mouth to protest this last, instead, grinning widely, he starts to sneak a hand up Will's thigh. "And 's'not like you'll be unarmed," his hand finds the deadly stiletto strapped tight to Will's leg, and taps it gently.

"It's a cowards weapon."

"No, luv, it's a secret weapon, and priests of my acquaintance rarely go 'round carrying bloody great swords." Jack frowns, "Well, there was this one, but he was rather a special case."

The room is turning a reddish gold with the setting sun, and Will knows time is short before he has to leave and board _The Prodigal_ and play his part. "This is a foolish plan." In truth he can see a certain merit in it. _The Prodigal_ , he has to admit, _is_ a well-armed ship, and to have someone, to have him, already onboard and lending an insider's aid can only increase their chances of taking it with the least bloodshed.

Yet…

Yet his mind misgives, and the costume that adorns him only adds to his worries.

"You're not afraid, are you, mate?"

"No, I'm not!" Will rubs at his chin, he is freshly shaven, and he knows he looks even younger than his twenty-one years. "But I'm hardly one for acting, and I haven't read a verse from the Bible since I was a child. This won't work. No one will take me for a man of God."

"Luv," Jack steps forward, crowding Will, forcing him to step back, forcing him up against the wall. "You might not know your Ecclesiastes from your elbow, but I assure you you'll convince just fine." He slides a hand down over the boy's hip and down the long, long length of his leg, sinking to his knees. "You happen to be just one of those fellows who seem to inspire trust and faith in folks." Slowly, so _achingly_ slowly, Jack creeps the black cotton of Will's vestments up, exposing pale, strong, muscled legs. "And you happen to be a bit of a stick, which helps."

Will wishes he could protest and swipe at Jack's head, but there is warm breath on his thigh, and he can feel his eyes flutter shut.

"And," Jack continues, thumbs kneeding deep into the smooth flesh. "You, my dear William, also happen to be young."

More than just breath now.

Hot, moist air, so close that Will can feel a sob, a plea, forming in his throat.

"And more than passing fair."

Lips. And tongue. And, Christ, but Jack knows what he's doing.

~

"Father," the Captain of _The Prodigal_ greets Will with a smile and a small polite bow. "Welcome aboard. She's a fine ship, and with your presence we'll surely have fine weather and fair winds for the journey."

"The Lord's will is as it shall be," Will murmurs, looking away from the Captain. He glances about him, the ship is large, he calculates that it must be at least as big as _The Dauntless_ , perhaps bigger, and while the woodwork is polished and the brightwork shining the ship is dominated by an immense array of cannons. "She looks a fine vessel."

"That she is, Father, and I'll wager they've never seen anything of her might in these waters before." The Captain taps the rail beside him proudly. "Shall I see you settled then, Father?"

"That would be appreciated, and perhaps you could tell me something of your other passengers?"

~

Will gives himself one last look in the mirror.

Jack had murmured words of how gorgeous he looked, how new-born and shiny and glowing with holiness.

Jack had murmured how innocent and blessed he looked.

Jack had murmured how it made him think such deliciously naughty thoughts; how words like seduction and temptation sprung into his mind. How he wanted to steal such bright golden virtue and see him gasping and undone.

Will sees a fraud and a fake and someone he'll never get to be.

Will sees a reflection he can't ever live up to.

"Father?" There's a soft tap at the door to his small private cabin. "They'll be serving up supper next, sir."

"Thank you," Will calls back, tearing his eyes away from the mirror. "I'll be along shortly."

"Very good, Father."

Will smoothes a hand through his hair. It's too late for second thoughts. His hand slides to his thigh, checking the slender stiletto is still safely strapped there. They're already hours out from port. He straightens his collar, and readjusts the rosary that lies at his hip. It'll be a full five days before Jack comes with _The Pearl_ and blazing guns and a joke and a threat.

And it's too late.

And it's time he met all the people he's about to fool and rob.

~

The days pass in a whirl of good food, whispered confessions, and long strolls about the decks.

Will finds that, as Jack said, the passengers are just as rich as Croesus, and display their wealth ostentatiously.

And that, as Jack said, the ship is armed to the teeth and _The Black Pearl_ would have been sorely disadvantaged in a fair fight.

He also finds that the passengers seek him out, impart to him all their secrets, and leave feeling lighter and guiltless. He's heard tales of adultery and fraud, threats, blackmail, and lies. He's had men tell him of fancy women dying after abandonment. He's had women tell him of babes purged from their bodies.

And he's absolved them all.

And thought of the calamities about to befall them.

Will also spends his hours cataloguing the might of _The Prodigal_. He's blessed with a quick eye and a fine memory and it's little enough work for him to take account of the size and positions of all the cannons aboard. He could rattle off in a moment the whereabouts and condition of every long-nine, all the carronades, every threat to the _Pearl_ on her upcoming raid.

It's even less work, as he smiles and looks virtuous, to quietly disable each gun one by one.

~

It's night on the third day out when Will wakes, bathed in sweat, and still half caught up in a fevered dream about Jack and Jack's clever, clever hands.

He turns, punching the pillow repeatedly, and tries to settle back down to sleep.

He blames the rich sauce that had smothered the lamb he had for supper.

He blames the rich, smelly cheeses he partook of after.

It cannot be that, after spending nearly a year of sleeping in the same cabin, in the same bed, as Jack, and waking to find his limbs and Jack's twisted together, or Jack's head resting on his chest, or Jack already bright eyed and lusty kissing a path down his belly, that he cannot sleep peaceably without the man.

~

It's night on the fourth day when Will wakes to gunfire and screams.

The _Pearl_ isn't due until tomorrow.

Jack isn't due until tomorrow.

Will unsheathes his stiletto, spends a fraction of a moment to wish for a real sword, flings open the door to his cabin and wades into the carnage.

~

A child barrels past Will, his face distorted with fear, hiccupping with sobs.

Will twists to watch the boy scurry into some hidden corner, then turns back to face a hoard of pirates he doesn't recognise.

The women are screaming and clutching at their jewels. The men are fighting or hiding behind their wives' skirts. And the crew of _The Prodigal_ are losing and dying and soaked in blood.

Will shoves aside a hysterical maid and sprints for the top deck. The air has already turned thick and acrid with gunpowder, and his stomach twists as he spots the captain being steadily forced back against the bulkhead, blood slick and red and poring from a wound on his shoulder.

This battle is already lost.

"Surrender or die, friend." The pirate is grizzled and older than Will by at least twenty years.

Will focuses on the sword before him.

A stiletto is no match for a well-crafted sword, but Will can spot a well-crafted sword from a mile away, and this man's weapon is nicked and webbed with fractures. Will smiles, lashes out, and watches as the sword breaks into a myriad of pieces. Placing his own, undamaged, weapon at the pirate's throat, he speaks calmly, "Take your own advice. Surrender or die."

~

Jack has told him he is an incredible sight when fierce and angry and fighting is the only thing he is bent upon.

Jack has told him that such a sight could move a saint to sin

~

"Halt."

Will stills as he feels a blade come to rest between his shoulder blades.

"Put down your blade, laddie, and I'll spare you."

Will doesn't move. "So more children can be threatened and abused?"

"I'll see that no harm comes to the little ones." Will hears a soft near-laugh behind him. "Or do you not trust the word of a pirate?"

"I…" Will trails off as a cry goes up. The Captain is down, be him dead or dying, and the battle is at an end.

"Come now, you have lost. Drop your weapon, boy."

"It's of no use, Father." One of _The Prodigal's_ sailors, one hand held tight to the bloody wound on his forehead, calls out to Will. "We've lost. There's no point to you giving your life as well."

"Father?" The pirate queries as Will lets the knife slip from his fingers. "You're a priest?"

Will nods as the man comes round to face him, he can see no point in trying to explain his real occupation and reason for his presence here. He looks off at the horizon, but there is no sign of _The Black Pearl_ or rescue.

He glances at the pirate as he hears a rough gasp and feels a hand grip his face.

"Boy, what's your name?"

The pirate has brown hair that has curled in the sea-damp air, dark brown eyes, and sharpened cheekbones.

"Will Turner," Will answers slowly.

"And your mother? She was called Ada?"

Will nods slowly before being crushed in a violent hug.

"My son, my own sweet boy." The pirate whispers. "I thought I'd lost you forever."

Will fights his way out of the embrace and looks up into the face of William Turner, Senior, pirate and very much alive.

  
 _  
**The History of Sex part two**   
_

10.

Jack has a whole repertoire of little tricks.

To hear a gasp come spilling from the boy's mouth all he needs do is take the boy completely and utterly by surprise.

This might involve the sudden use of his mouth and tongue, or a quick pinch, or sometimes just a joke spoken amongst all the sweating and thrusting.

  
11.

Will sometimes won't retire to bed until he's fairly certain that Jack is fast asleep and unlikely to wake.

This only happens on dark nights when Will knows his eyes would want to stay open and look into Jack's and all his secrets would come pouring out.

  
 _  
**Of Family Reunions; Or How Will Struggles with the Truth, Bootstrap Struggles with his Son, and Jack just Struggles to Find Them**   
_

It was quick in the end. Bootstrap, clutching Will by the arm, had hallooed his own Captain and in words that Will couldn't concentrate on, and could never remember after, had explained the unusual situation.

Then it had been back down to Will's cabin to get dressed and collect his belongings.

And then-

And then they were situated aboard the pirate ship _The Marie Fair_ , and cloistered in Bootstrap's own cabin.

"Christ, lad! Oh, but let's have a look at you then." Bootstrap turns up the lantern as bright as it will go. "Well, you've my look about you certainly enough. You've a touch of your mother around the mouth though."

Will just stares for a moment.

"I know this'll be a bit of a shock for you, son. And had I known you was alive I'd have come found you long before now. But there it is, nowt to be done about it now." Bootstrap shakes his head, and reaches out to touch Will's face again.

Will leans away from the touch. "Da?"

"That's right, Will."

"You died. They _told_ me you died. Barbossa and his crew of miscreants. Sent to the bottom of the ocean. Bootstrap's bootstraps." Will clamps down on the slightly hysterical note that attempts to creep into his voice. "The water would have _crushed_ you."

Bootstrap shrugs. "Wasn't that deep."

"Wasn't that…" Will has a sudden, desperate, wish for Jack. Jack, whose mind works in strange ways and could probably accept this new turn of events with barely a second thought, who would already be proposing a toast and planning what to do next. "And when the curse was lifted?"

"Already made it to land." Bootstrap smiles, reaching out a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Will's ear, he stills suddenly. "Hold up, Will, Barbossa? You've met that evil, twisted son of a whore? Christ! If he's touched you or hurt you, I'll skin the bastard. What would you be doing with him anyways? Mary mother o' God, you could have been killed or worse. Pirates aren't to be trusted, boy."

Will shuts his eyes, "You're a pirate."

"Be that as it may, I'm also your father."

"Should that make me trust you more or less?"

"William, I realise you're in shock, but there's no need for your sauce." Bootstrap goes to a drawer and pulls out a bottle of rum and two glasses. "Here," he shoves a good measure into Will's hand. "Get that down you and you'll feel better."

Will downs the drink swiftly, and holds out the glass for more. "So, you're not dead," he intones, saying the words slowly, getting the feel of them in his mouth. "My father isn't dead, and I'm not an orphan. You’re a pirate, but I knew that already, and you just raided the ship I was on."

"And you're a priest."

"What?"

"Christ on the cross, Will, I couldn't be more proud. My boy, a man of God. I always feared the sea'd take you just like me. But, you're a proper good soul, a priest!"

Will's head spins. "You don't understand…"

"Could ne'er bear the thought of you ending up like me," Bootstrap interrupts. "I was always so careful to keep you away from that life when you was just a nipper. No son of mine was going to take this route and end up some scallywag pirate, with no morals and no hope in the hereafter."

There's a thick block of pain forming in Will's chest. He takes a deep breath. His fingers itch against the cotton of his vestments. "You'd hate me to be a pirate," he whispers. "You'd hate me." He looks up into his father's face, he can see why they all said he was the dead spit of Bootstrap, same eyes, same nose, same brown curling hair. "I have to get back to _The Prodigal_ ," he stands and steps toward the door. "I have to leave."

"Leave? Don't talk nonsense, boy," Bootstrap laughs good-naturedly. "I only just found you, 'sides we already set sail."

"What do you mean?"

"That we put _The Prodigal_ to our rudder an age ago. There's no going back aboard now."

~

Life onboard _The Marie Fair_ holds as many similarities to life aboard _The Pearl_ as it does dissimilarities.

The men all drink and gamble. They all discuss whores and swear and curse.

But they also fight and battle with each other with no provocation. Order is kept by the lash. And the captain is a fearsome man that no one likes but all obey.

Bootstrap tries to insist Will stays safely sequestered in his cabin until they reach land and a decent port, but the walls seem to close in on him, and his father's constant presence wearies and defeats Will.

He's tried to tell the truth, tried to explain.

He's brought up the matter of his being on _The Prodigal_ more times than he can count.

He's tried to speak of his childhood, and the few options that were left open to a poor orphaned boy of eleven.

He's talked of Jack, and of the notion of being a pirate _and_ a good man.

And his father will interrupt and say that's all very well and true, but his son is a priest, and _that_ is something to be truly proud of.

And Will will sigh, and excuse himself, and leave to stand at the rail and breathe in the fine salty sea air.

He's no notion as yet of how he's to get word to Jack of what has befallen him and where he is. He wonders where Jack is and what he thinks has happened. Perhaps those left alive on _The Prodigal_ will speak to him of the pirate raid and the abduction of a young priest. Perhaps he will be thought dead.

"Morning, boy."

Will spares a half glance for the unwashed pirate who's appeared at his side.

"Seems to me you're mighty young to 'ave given up t'world and set your eyes on 'igher things." The pirate shifts closer, his shoulder only a fraction from Will's.

"What do you want?"

"Well, just to broaden your horizon, pretty." The pirate smiles, exposing black rotten teeth and fetid breath. "Nowt you won't enjoy, I promise you."

Will raises an eyebrow. "No, thank you," he states calmly, and looks back out over the sea.

"Now, don't be like that, sonny."

Will grits his teeth as a hand comes to rest on his thigh. "Remove that."

"Remove what?"

The hand starts a slow slide, round and up, and Will's about to make his refusal a tad clearer when he hears a bellow behind him, and he sees his father barge past him and thrust a knife into the pirate's throat.

~

Jack had always said he enjoyed just watching Will in the taverns and inns they frequented.

Enjoyed watching the men and whores try their charms on Will one by one, and seeing them all rebuffed.

Enjoyed watching Will deal swiftly and violently with those that wouldn't take no for an answer.

It was only when Will was in his cups, or heavily outnumbered that he felt the need to intercede and make it clear whose bed the boy would be gracing tonight.

~

"Bloody hell, boy, you are going to be the death of me. If I tell you to stay put 'ere, I mean it." Bootstrap shakes the boy's shoulders before shoving him back so he lands ungainly on the bed. "Have you any idea what that scoundrel would have been wanting with you? Do you? You're on a fucking pirate ship, Will, God's graces ain' going to save you none here."

Will looks up into the red and angry face of his father. "I know what he wanted. Do you think he was the first to want the same? I'm not a child, and I'm well able to look after myself."

"You can't have the slightest notion what life here is like, son."

"No?" Will stands, he is as tall as his father, and he raises his chin as he looks him in the eye. "I've been on my own since you buggered off and left and Mum died. I was eleven when I was on board a ship that was raided and blown sky high, I've been apprenticed to a drunk, I've been locked in the _Pearl's_ brig, and fought undead pirates." He steps closer, voice dropping low and deadly. "I'm not the child you left, I'm not a holy innocent, and I'm never going to be what you want me to be."

Bootstrap raises a hand, eyes narrowed, before whirling around and stomping out of the room.

Will feels his anger deflate, and drops to the edge of the bed.

  
 _  
**The History of Sex part three**   
_

12.

Jack's never been over fussy when it comes to swiving.

He has his preferences of course, but for the most part he takes what he can get and enjoys it all.

He especially likes men who are young and easy on the eyes and have more than a touch of fire about them. But he'll take men not so attractive or spirited, and women of any sort, when it gets right down to it.

He also prefers not to have to worry about a knife ending up in his back.

But knows that trust between the bedsheets is hard to come by.

  
 _  
**Of Searching; Or What Jack's been doing all this time**   
_

_The Prodigal_ is limping and listing and full of holes by the time they find her. Jack goes aboard, questions those left alive, either threatening them with more violence or bribing with offers of aid.

He learns many things, but little of what he truly desires to know.

They tell him that nice young Father Turner had gone off with the pirates, but cannot say if there was a pistol at his back, or in what direction they set sail.

They tell him of filthy unwashed evil pirates, but cannot name their captain or ship.

They tell him the whole sordid tale but can offer no hope.

~

Jack's dreams, when they come, are vivid and frightening.

He's seen enough blood and breaking of bodies in his life to picture what Will might look like when they find him. In the nights previous he'd awoken hard and with a smile on his face, having dreamt of Will under him or over him.

Now, he wakes in a cold sweat and sends out prayers to every heathen god he can name that the boy is alive and well.

~

Jack lays in a course that's more guesswork than he'd like. The wind is with them, and _Pearl_ groans her approval and speeds as quick as any sailor could wish.

Jack, at her helm, hands caressing her warm, smooth wood, whispers to her, and listens hard as she whispers back.

Anamaria keeps her thoughts to herself, but can be seen standing silent with Gibbs, both looking on Jack with serious faces.

The rest of the crew keep themselves busy and jump to whenever Jack calls out an order.

And the days and nights pass by.

~

It's the morn of the third day, when Jack, looking on the thin washed-out sunrise, alters course, bearing suddenly eastwards and towards a friendly port he hasn't stepped foot in for nigh on twelve years.

"Here girl?" His thumb finds a worn grove in the wheel, and he strokes the length of it slowly. "Been a long ol' time. Not so welcoming as Tortuga, but closer."

He pauses as if listening.

"He'll be well, darlin'. He's a strong, bright boy. Reckless mind." The wind dips, and Jack holds his breath as the sails fall slack. For a full minute the air is still, then slowly the sail billow out again and Jack exhales. "Just got to get to him."

~

It's midday as they dock and Jack notices another ship, proud and marked with shot and overflowing with guns, berthed up another jetty. He leaves two thirds of the crew onboard with instructions to be ready to sail at a moment's notice.

And then they are walking through the town.

And the sun is blazing down.

And Jack can feel sweat gathering on his brow, and sliding down his back.

And then, as they stand before the door to an inn, the wind gusts stronger, and voices, raised and angry are heard caught on the breeze.

"Wait here." Jack sends a sharp glance over his crew. "Drink but no trouble, un'stand?"

"Aye, cap'in."

Jack nods and walks quickly, with only the barest rock or sway, in the direction of the voices.

"You're a good boy, Will, but things are such that you can't understand."

"No, I understand everything quite clearly. It's more that you won't see who I am, accept who I am."

"I'm your father. I've known you since you was born. You're of my blood and bone. Don't think to tell me otherwise."

Jack halts when he spots the two figures. Will is still dressed in his long black cassock, and for a moment Jack is overwhelmed by memories of sliding those dark skirts up his legs, wrapping his lips around the boy, and tasting everything he had to give.

He tears his eyes away from Will and looks to the other figure. He's hardly aged a day. Bootstrap Bill Turner. Part of Jack wants to walk out, greet the man, and offer him a drink of rum.

Part of him wants to reminisce.

Part of him wants to grab his younger lover and run.

"No," Will says simply. "You don't know me. You know a little boy who used to dream that his da would come back and stay this time. That's not me." He shakes his head, and takes one solemn step backwards. "That boy died a long time ago."

Bootstrap shakes his head and doesn't answer for a moment. Finally his voice, low and dark rumbles forth, "And you won't give me a chance to know this new you, my grown son."

Will smiles, it's a sweet sad smile, one Jack has only ever seen on the boy's face when he mentioned his mother. "Of course I will. But not yet. You're not ready, da."

Jack watches Will take a deep breath, then hears his voice once more- "It's time you left."

And Bootstrap just stares, then slowly turns and walks away.

And the boy is left just standing alone in the street.

"Will, mate?" Jack takes a step or two forward.

And Will turns, eyes bright. "Jack!"

"You're bloody hard to track down, luv."

"Well, I've got to do something to keep you occupied in your old age, Captain."

Jack shakes his head. "Brat," he accuses. "You ready for home, darlin'."

Will laughs slightly, quietly, "Never more so."

  
 _  
**The History of Sex part four**   
_

13.

There's the slightest frisson of fear in Will as he looks up into Jack's eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking, luv."

"That…" Will gasps as Jack's tongue and mouth spell out obscene things down his throat and across his clavicle. "That my Captain is dark and gorgeous and has the most wicked mouth."

"Oh?" Jack slides a hand up Will's flank, and kisses him quickly on the lips. "That the only thing about me that is wicked, mate?"

Will shakes his head mutely.

"Come on, William." Jack's hand drifts down, grasping the boy' prick, stroking him steadily. "Give me your words and moans."

"And, I'm thinking how his eyes seem to consume me, like they've never seen me before." Will twists upward, inhaling sharply. Jack is delving lower now, and he can smell the oil he uses for sharpening his sword.

Jack smiles as Will gets louder, a thousand little noises tumbling from his mouth. The boy's eyes are turning black, and his face is flushed bright. "That's 'cause I never have, luv." He twitches a finger and hears a filthy curse spill forth. "Never seen you like this, with your eyes wide and lookin' at me." He spreads the boy's thighs a little further apart, and settles more comfortably between them. "Never heard you like this, givin' voice to every sensation an' touch."

"Jack…"

"I'm here, mate. You just hold on and we'll ride this out together."

Will nods, and then arches his back as Jack drives his way inside him, and growls, and drags Jack closer for one long devastating kiss.


End file.
